


stardust, and starlight, and the spaces in between

by kzumeknma (born_to_fly)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Falling In Love, Light Angst, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Old Gods, Reincarnation, at least in this chapter, canon-typical simping, excessive celestial imagery, mentions of violence?, nonbinary!akaashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/born_to_fly/pseuds/kzumeknma
Summary: They say the old gods emerged, fully-formed, from the ether, stardust swirling into existence. The universe trembled, shivered- then realigned.It is important to note that, in the universe, nothing ever truly dies.In which Akaashi and Bokuto are old gods.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	stardust, and starlight, and the spaces in between

**Author's Note:**

> *glances at my current wip*   
> I Pretend I Do Not See It, But In Reality I Do
> 
> this is an experimental style! hope u enjoy lol

They say the old gods emerged, fully-formed, from the ether, stardust swirling into existence. The universe trembled, shivered- then realigned.

Consciousness burst forth from the collisions of galaxies, the implosions of stars, the glancing of comets against each other. Across the universe, beyond the time and space of human recollection, a comet races by, and a nebula, infatuated, runs trails of dust to follow it. It is from these trails that they spring, not quite a child, nor an adult. 

Their name is Akaashi, the sound of a nameless, many-winged bird taking flight, the silence of one who watches, still and silent, and waits. They are not a god, but like one- they exist beyond the hierarchy of the Elders, and the Lowers, and those in between. Time flows through them, languid, as they wait, and they watch.

Sometimes, Akaashi visits the old nebula, still swirling, reaching, trembling- they had never quite reached their comet. Akaashi questions not their own existence, but how they came to be. Surely the universe would not be swayed by such a small, inconsequential thing, Akaashi says, and the nebula looks back, and written in its dust are years of interminable sorrow, centuries of wanting, and hoping, and yearning, for but another glimpse.

Akaashi does not understand. 

The gods, they say, are all-seeing. The timeless- for Akaashi is timeless, existing in the middle ground of space and reality- are similar. The progeny of the stars and the dust see many things, waiting, watching. There is no lack of patience in the universe, for nothing ever truly dies- there is only endless creation and reformation- a cycle so long and winding that even the eldest of the gods could not tell you the beginning, or even if there was one. 

Such it went for centuries, millenia, blinks of an eye. Time stretches long for the gods and those timeless beings, for even great eternities are but a blink of an eye to those who live forever, who will never cease to exist. Akaashi watched, and waited, and watched, and waited- for what, they never knew, but then-

Then-

A bang- the death of an old star- but nothing ever truly dies. There is only formation, and reformation. Akaashi watched, and waited, and-

Oh.

Perhaps they understand, now. 

A star rises from the ashes, a phoenix, the most beautiful consciousness Akaashi has ever perceived. The light reflects back on their eyes, and that’s how it begins. Pure creation, a beam of light in the dreary dusk of the universe, and Akaashi is drawn in. They couldn’t stop themselves if they wanted to.

“What  _ are  _ you?” They say, to the strange, orange-clad being that stands before them.  _ You’re beautiful _ , is what they don’t say, but the shadows of a nebula’s trails stir in their mind.

“My name is Bokuto Koutarou, son of the dying stars, guardian of children. What’s your name, huh?” He’s… odd. Most of their kind wait millennia to adopt a name, to recognize their celestial heritage, to claim a responsibility, in this wide expanse of the universe. Akaashi even knows of a few Elder Gods who have never shackled their identity to the limitations of spoken language, much less a physical form, choosing instead to exist as concepts, as brief, pulsing flashes against a greater consciousness. 

And  _ children _ \- how odd. A being who has never been a child, the patron of children. For a moment, Akaashi struggles to comprehend the reasoning of the universe, of Fate. They quickly dismiss that line of reasoning. Fate needs not justification.

Bokuto is not a true god, but this does not surprise Akaashi. He is bright, jumpy, animated in a way that most are not. Eons of stagnation weighs heavy on the soul, even after reincarnation, but Bokuto seems- well,  _ alive _ , in a way that Akaashi has not experienced in millenia. Akaashi has never seen a spark so bright or worthy of attention. Bokuto is golden and glowing and excited, a true act of creation, and Akaashi wants nothing but to bask in him, to melt into the starlight in his eyes. 

“I am called Akaashi.” 

“Uwah! What a pretty name! Aghashee!” And once more, the universe shivers, a barely-there tremble, and realigns. Bokuto is a star, and Akaashi has been pulled, irreversibly, into his orbit. The fabric of their reality begins to fray- there cannot exist an action without a reaction, and the birth of the Golden Child begins the death of a peaceful universe. Fate has balanced its scaled, has cast its die, it seems, and on that day, Akaashi is no longer timeless.

They talk for centuries, for millennia, for eons, until they cannot remember where they began. They meld souls, spirits, physical forms, distinct but undeniably together. If they were more human, they might say they were in love- Akaashi, incomprehensible and beautiful, and Bokuto, gorgeous and so  _ alive _ . 

Akaashi watches Bokuto as he bounces from star to star, runs and twirls through galaxies, arms spread wide and heart open wider, and they finally understand why Bokuto is the god of childhood. There’s an innocence, a naivete, to his actions that Akaashi has never witnessed before. He’s so  _ bright _ , Akaashi thinks, watching golden eyes dance, gleam, in the reflected light of supernovas. 

They are not human, and Akaashi would scoff at the very notion of love, but their consciousness trails behind Bokuto like dust from a nebula, reaching, reaching, and Bokuto, fearless, entangles himself in Akaashi’s hold, in Akaashi’s soul, and does not let go. They are not in love, but Akaashi remembers the nebula and thinks they finally understand.

In the universe, nothing ever truly dies- it’s all cycles, and cycles, and cycles.

But some cycles are made to end.

Nobody knows when the war began, nor why, nor how. The gods have always been balanced- the celestial hierarchy made it so- but suddenly, there is pain where there once was peace, and fear where there once was freedom.  _ The God of Time himself has gone mad, _ the stars whisper, blinking dark-light-dark.  _ He is stealing time, _ they say in hushed tones,  _ the timeless ones are no more. You must run, for the other Gods have divided, and it is war, and you will not survive should you stay.  _ On that day, Akaashi hears Fate at the core of their being, and they discover that time no longer flows through them- instead, they flow through time, winding down on a rapidly shortening string.

Akaashi and Bokuto (for that’s how it is now,  _ Akaashi-and-Bokuto _ , hyphenated, together) flee the rage of the Elders, scattering to the farthest corner of the universe, hunkering down by a quaint little solar system. The baby star twinkles at them, and even with the dwindling sand flowing through the hourglass of his life, Akaashi cannot help but smile. It’s small, and different, and nothing compared to the vast expanse of stardust and cosmos from which Akaashi and Bokuto hailed, but it is safe, and it is theirs.

Change whispers on the horizon- the slither of sharp steel, the echoes of haunted screams- and the Fates tug at Akaashi’s consciousness.  _ Almost _ , they say,  _ you have waited, and watched, for so long. Almost _ . And Akaashi knows that their time is almost up. It is a universal truth that nothing ever really dies.

Nothing ever really dies. But no one gets forever.

Violence creeps into their solar system quietly. The lesser planets draw close, fear turning them cold. Ennea, the ninth planet, returns from her outpost, orbit knocked askew.  _ The Gods are wrathful, and powerful, and they are coming _ , she tells them as she passes by.  _ I will run, and so should you _ , she doesn’t say. She knows there is nowhere left for them to hide. The merciful gods have fallen, after all, and now those bloodthirsty ones ravage the universe, stealing time as they please, leaving no survivors. They have existed on borrowed time, in borrowed space, and now, the Fate themselves holds their unrelenting blade over Akaashi’s neck. 

Now, when they watch, when they wait, they stare nonexistence in the eyes, unflinching and unafraid. There is nothing to fear but fear itself. Bokuto curls soft around his mind, soothing and warm, sensing their hidden agitation. Akaashi has not told Bokuto of their fate, of Fate. They will not be the reason that Bokuto’s light dims. 

When their time comes, it is not quiet, not is it peaceful. Starlight pours from gashes in Akaashi’s soul, vibrant and violent, as they run, hand clasped tight around Bokuto’s, scrambling for just one more minute, one more moment. Funny, how these seconds stretch almost as long as those eons spent in peaceful times. Funny, how Akaashi would trade every last eternity for one more moment with Bokuto’s hand in theirs. But it’s of no use. Akaashi will cease in the same way they began- trailing dust from a nebula, bleeding space and time from their body.

“‘Kaashi? What’s going on? Why are we running?” And  _ oh _ , Bokuto  _ still  _ cannot feel it, cannot fathom it, cannot imagine a world where the Elder Gods are here to take, have already taken. 

The clashing, thunderous noises of pursuit suddenly cease as the presence pursuing them takes stock of the orange-clad figure at Akaashi’s side. There is a violent, joyful hunger there that makes Akaashi shudder. 

_ No,  _ Akaashi thinks, viscous _ , you will not have him _ . Fate agrees. To take Akaashi is to adjust a balance. To tarnish Bokuto, to corrupt innocence, is a crime heavier than the universe itself. 

When Akaashi’s time comes, they stare down the great and terrible might of the Elder Gods. They do not flinch. They do not hide. Only one life need be sacrificed, today.

In their last moments, they understand that this,  _ this _ , is what they have been watching for, have been waiting for. It is too late to run, too early to stand by. They shield Bokuto with their body, soul bared, fire and glory and quiet, unshakeable strength, and they look back, one last time, to draw strength from one last glimpse of those golden eyes they so adore.

But he’s not there. Faster than the comet streaking away from Akaashi’s nebula, Bokuto is in front of him, willful in his naivete, determined in his innocence. He’s so  _ alive _ , and for the first time, Akaashi feels true fear. 

“ _ Koutarou! _ ” The blade falls, the foot drops, the fist lands. It is every violent action, done once unto Bokuto, felt tenfold by Akaashi. 

Bokuto stumbles back, ichor oozing slow from the ragged-edged hole in his chest. Solemn golden eyes turn to Akaashi, gaze only made heavier by fading remnants of childhood innocence.  _ Run _ , he mouths, lips closing soundlessly over the plea, but Akaashi can only stand, frozen, choking on comet trails and the taste of death. Their soul reaches like tendrils across the expanse of the universe- reaching, always reaching- even as Bokuto goes to a place where Akaashi cannot follow. 

Akaashi is forced to their knees. Something inside them is shattered, something they never even knew existed. It’s an all-encompassing pain- Akaashi’s soul cries a song of anguish even as their physical form stares up at the Elder God, impassive. The God of Time themself sneers back, raising their fist and yanking, hard, at the thread of time Akaashi has left. 

Akaashi doesn’t fight. Only one lifetime should have been sacrificed, today. Now, it will be two. They close their eyes. Nothing that the Elder God did to Akaashi could truly hurt them, not now, when the fabric of their being was missing its most integral part.

Sorrow and grief and  _ loss _ are emotions for lesser beings, but Akaashi thinks they understand as they cradle stardust and sunbeams in their arms. Their time is unspooling from their chest, and the God of Time’s smile is cruel and sharp as they take in their flightless, fightless prey, devouring Akaashi’s lifetime strand by strand. 

They are to die today, as decreed by Fate itself, and sure enough, the gaze of Fate hangs heavy over their head, battering them with indescribable rage.

_ You were to protect him, you miserable fool! _

And Akaashi  _ knows _ , they  _ know _ \- eons spent waiting, and watching, and waiting, and watching, to live and die for Fate’s golden child. 

_ Worthless _ , Fate seethes, churning anger and fiery hatred.  _ You will suffer, for your failures. You will pay your penance in this lifetime, and the next, and the next.  _

_ Anything, anything for him _ , Akaashi thinks, and means it.  _ I love him _ . It is their last thought as they stare into the cruel, unfeeling eyes of the God of Time. 

Love is a petty, fickle thing- perfect for humans, unbecoming of higher beings, but oh- Akaashi cannot help but wish they had been a little more human.  _ I love him _ , they repeat, if only to hear the sound of the words again.

_ Then perish _ , Fate says, curled in disgust. Love means nothing, nothing at all- Fate deals not with things so inconsequential or so intangible as  _ love _ , not when their most favored being, their Golden Child, is consequentially and tangibly gone.

Thus, Akaashi slips away, fading to black as the last golden, dripping strands of time are wrenched from their chest. They have just enough will, just enough strength to glance down, to caress soft silver hair, gaze into sightless golden eyes one last time. This is how the consciousness of Akaashi as they currently exist dies, with the love of their lifetime cradled gently, always gently, in their arms. 

It is easy to forget, sometimes, that in the universe, nothing ever really dies. Sometimes, Fate themself forgets, and in their rage, they miss the golden spark that leaps across the galaxy, not but two lightyears away, and lands on Glinos, the third planet from that small, baby sun. 

Fate does not make the same mistake for the soul that slips away but moments later, following it with wrathful attention, to that third planet from the sun, the planet of the humans.  _ Akaashi Keiji will suffer, in this lifetime and the next, and the next. _

On Earth, two fragmented souls settle, and are reborn again. 

**Author's Note:**

> me, screaming in three potential unfinished wips  
> don't worry friends i'm still working on my multichap iwaoi 5+1 thing- oikawa is fighting me ;-;  
> will this have another chap? u didn't hear it from me but i think there might be a few in the works


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